The Comfort of the Blade
by Dead Man's Toe
Summary: A very groggy Garcia accidentally walks in on Lucy in the bathroom in the middle of the night and sees something she definitely did not want him to see. Two shot. Pre-relationship.
1. The Bathroom

**Trigger warnings for self harm.**

* * *

It was 3:27 in the morning, and Garcia's head was a mess of static. He was so groggy, but he really needed to take a piss, and a bit of sleepiness wasn't going to stop him.

In his tired mind, he didn't even register the chair that he pushed out of the way of the bathroom door. He pushed the door open as he tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes.

Suddenly, he was wide awake as the smell of blood hit him hard. He heard a gasp, and his eyes shot frantically towards the source, locking with Lucy's eyes. Something metal clanged on the ground, but Garcia ignored it as he rushed towards Lucy. She was dressed only in a shirt and her underwear, blood running down her legs.

"Lucy, what the hell happened? Are you alright?" he asked frantically, grabbing her waist, trying to examine the wound.

To his surprise, Lucy tried to struggle out of his grip. "Flynn, it's nothing," she insisted. "I can take care of this by myself."

Garcia heard the fear in her voice and gripped her waist harder as she tried to back up. "At least let me help," he replied, flustered. Finally, he got a good look at her right leg, and his heart stopped. Bright, angry, straight red lines marked her skin, covering up old scars. His eyes flickered over to the clinking sound he had heard on the floor and landed on a bloody knife. "Oh, Lucy," he sighed.

His grip loosened, and Lucy broke away, backing up against the wall. "Don't look at me," she pleaded, trying to shrink herself as small as possible.

Wordlessly, Garcia retrieved a towel and ran it under the warm sink water. Lucy had sunk down to the floor, hopelessly accepting that Garcia wasn't going to leave her alone. She hung her head in shame, breaking Garcia's heart even further.

He approached her slowly and knelt beside her. Gently, he began to wipe the blood from her legs, exposing both the fresh and old cuts. "How long?" he asked, keeping his tone soft and neutral as he worked.

"Since Amy," she replied, her voice emotionless.

Garcia closed his eyes as he felt like he'd been punched right in the gut. Her sister, Amy, that had been his fault. It was his actions that erased her from history. He was the monster here, not Rittenhouse. Lucy hadn't explained what happened to her in the diary. He had always just assumed she had died. "I'm so sorry," he breathed out.

"You didn't know," Lucy responded in the same emotionless tone. As Garcia moved to work on her other leg, Lucy kept talking. "Actually, I started in high school. I got bullied constantly for being the history geek. Amy's the one who helped me stop. Once she was gone, I just fell back into old habits."

Done with the towel, Garcia tossed it aside and moved to the medicine cabinet, pulling out an antibiotic cream. He approached her again, kneeling down and squeezing a bit out onto his finger. As he began to rub it on her fresh cuts, he asked, "You do use this after you cut, right?"

Lucy's shoulders slunk further down. "No," she quietly admitted.

Garcia sighed sadly. "Lucy, we really do need you. You've got to take care of yourself."

"Are you mad?" Lucy asked softly, looking into Garcia's eyes with her timid brown ones.

Gently, Garcia reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I could never be mad at you, Lucy," he replied. "Especially not for something like this."

Once he had finished with the cream, he got back up to put it away and retrieve bandages. He knelt down beside her once more and began spreading them over her open cuts. "You probably don't use these either," he commented.

Lucy shook her head again and looked back down. "Amy was mad," she muttered.

"Well then Amy had never been in so much emotional pain that she needed a physical release," Garcia responded.

"You're very knowledgeable about this," Lucy observed, looking at him with concern.

Garcia shook his head and sighed, unable to believe that she was looking at him like that when she was the one who had been bleeding onto the floor just moments ago. But then again, this was Lucy. She always put everyone else over herself. He supposed if she was going to open up to him, then he was going to have to open up to her.

Setting the bandages aside, he pulled his shirt up, revealing a cluster of cigarette burn marks covering his abdomen. Lucy let out a soft gasp and placed her hand over it, gently tracing the scars there. "Why?" she asked hesitantly.

"Because my family was murdered and I was blamed for it," Garcia responded dryly. "It was the only thing that kept me sane until your journal."

"This is the only thing that keeps me sane," Lucy admitted with a whisper, tears welling up in her eyes. Garcia sat next to her and took her into his arms, holding her tight. The dam inside her broke, and she began shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. She put a hand to her mouth, trying to muffle the sounds. Garcia gently stroked her hair and whispered to her in soothing Croatian.

Once she had cried herself out, she sank against Garcia's chest, drained. "When you were in prison, how did you keep going?" she asked.

Garcia looked down at her curiously. "I still had faith in the journal. In you," he clarified. "How do you keep going?" he asked her gently.

"Because everybody expects me to," Lucy replied, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

"Including me," Garcia responded with guilt. "You're already carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. I've just been adding to it with that journal."

Lucy shook her head. "You're not the only one that finds hope from the journal," she replied. "It gives me hope that one day this fight is going to end."

Garcia nodded in understanding and slowly removed himself from her. He went to retrieve the knife and cleaned it under the sink. Lucy watched in shock as he turned around and handed it back to her. Slowly, she held up her hand to take it. "You're not taking it away?" Lucy questioned.

"Have you seen this bunker?" Garcia asked in disgust. "I don't want you finding some rusty nail next time you want to cut. Although, next time, I would prefer that you reach out to me first."

Still shocked, Lucy met his eyes again, finding the sincerity in them. "I think I will," she replied.

"Good." Garcia smiled softly. He held out his hand to help her stand up, and she took it. She retrieved her sweatpants from the bathroom floor and slipped them back on before turning back to Garcia with a lost expression on her face. "Well one thing's for sure; you are not sleeping alone on that couch again tonight," he decided.

"Well, where else would I go?" she asked, confused. "Rufus has already taken over my old room." Garcia gave her a pointed look. "No," Lucy replied firmly. "I am not stealing your bed again."

"It's not stealing, I'm giving it to you," Garcia argued. "Now wait for me outside the door, I actually did come to the bathroom for a reason.

Lucy blushed. "Right. Of course. I am so sorry," she stammered as she left. Garcia sighed. That girl needed to stop apologizing so much.

Once his business was taken care of, he exited the bathroom and was not surprised to see that Lucy had already curled up on the couch. Garcia shook his head at her stubbornness and walked up to her. She didn't look at him or even acknowledge him in any way. With a sly smile, Garcia slid his arms under Lucy and picked her up bridal style.

Lucy gasped in surprise as Garcia gripped her tight. "Let me down, Flynn," she demanded.

"I plan on it," Garcia replied as he walked. He pushed the door open to his room and gently set Lucy on his cot. Too tired to fight, Lucy simply lay there and looked defeated.

He turned to his chair when a soft voice stopped him. "We can share, you know," Lucy suggested.

"There's not enough room for both of us, and you need the rest more than I do," Garcia stated. Lucy's eyes filled with guilt, and she looked as if she might cry again. Garcia sighed in defeat. "Alright, scoot over."

Lucy happily obliged, practically plastering herself to the wall. Garcia lay next to her as close to the edge as possible and pulled the blanket over them. Lucy's back pressed into Garcia's chest, and his face nuzzled into her hair.

Despite the tight fit, they slept peacefully well past morning.


	2. His (Their) Room

A few nights later, Garcia heard a timid knocking on his door. He eyed it cautiously, wondering who was on the other side. It wasn't Lucy; that girl had a tendency to barge in and make herself at home. But who else would be coming to him? No one unless... there was an emergency.

Garcia quickly grabbed his gun and rushed to the door, throwing it open to reveal a very startled Lucy. The rest of the bunker was calm, and Garcia's initial panic wore off. "Lucy," he sighed in relief. "You scared me."

"I didn't knock that hard," Lucy replied. The brunette looked as if she was trying to shrink in on herself. For a short person, Lucy had a huge presence. Her odd behavior was starting to make Garcia's panic return.

"Exactly," Garcia said. "You never knock. I thought... well..." he motioned to the gun in his hand.

Lucy's eyes squeezed tightly shut as she shook her head gently. "Oh god, I'm so sorry," she apologized, and Garcia sighed again. He didn't want to hear another goddamn apology come out of that girl's mouth. "I-"

Garcia cut her off as he gently grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. He shut the door behind them and turned to Lucy. "What's wrong?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with concern.

She bit at her lower lip, internally debating something. Garcia leaned back and watched her, patient but worried. He remembered what he had said a few nights ago, that he would prefer Lucy talking to him before hurting herself, and he suspected that was what this was about.

He didn't expect Lucy to pull out her knife and extend its handle towards him. "Here," Lucy said. "I want you to have this."

His hands hovered hesitantly above it as he stared in shock. "Lucy.." he began.

"I'm not going to find a rusty nail," she assured him. "I'm quitting, and I don't want this temptation anymore. So, here."

Garcia gently took the knife and placed it on his bedside table. By the time he turned around, Lucy was curled up in his chair staring down at the floor. He crossed the room to her and slowly knelt down in front of her. Without thinking, he took one of her hands in his and began rubbing circles against it with his thumb. "I assume you wanted to talk," he said.

Lucy met his eyes and nodded. "I do," she replied. "I just don't know what to say."

"I understand," Garcia replied softly. "This- this isn't an easy thing to deal with."

"It isn't," Lucy agreed. "And yet we turn to it because everything else is so hard to deal with."

Garcia smiled sadly in understanding. "You can tell me anything," he replied. "It won't change the way I see you."

"I was going to do it again tonight," Lucy admitted. "Even after what I said, I was going to do it again. I was just laying on the couch thinking about how goddamn lonely I am. I mean, I've lost everything. My mother, my sister, my whole damn life..."

"...And Wyatt?" Garcia asked gently.

Lucy's eyes watered as she nodded. "For a second, I thought maybe I wasn't alone in this screwed up universe my life has become," she replied. "But now I am again."

Garcia stood, feeling agitated. Lucy looked up at him worriedly, as if she was wondering if she had done something wrong. "That's it," he said firmly. "You are not spending another night on that couch."

"Garcia, I- I can't-"

He held up his hand, silencing her. "You're the strongest person I know, Lucy," he said. "But you need someone. And if you don't want me, I understand, but it has to be someone."

Lucy searched his eyes for a moment. "I want it to be you," she said decisively.

Garcia's breath hitched in his throat. He hadn't actually expected her to want him, even though he badly wanted her. The truth was, he was lonely too, and he had been hanging onto the journal like a lifeline for so long. Having Lucy here in person wasn't the same. It was better. But she was a real person, and he couldn't cling to her so tightly that she would suffocate.

"I've been thinking, ever since our talk in the bathroom," Garcia began. "Well, I've been wanting to ask Agent Christopher to get an extra cot. For here. For you."

Lucy's brow furrowed. "You would do that for me?" she asked.

Garcia bit his cheek in frustration, wondering how low Lucy's self-esteem had to be that this was a surprise. "Yes," he said gently. "Of course.

"Thank you," Lucy whispered.

"But until then," Garcia said, turning back to his bed. "You're still not sleeping on that couch." He sat down on his bed, scooted to the edge, and lifted the covers for Lucy to join.

The conflict was clear on Lucy's face. "Flynn, I can't," she argued.

"Lucy, I swear to God if you walk back out to that couch, I will follow you and lay down on the floor. You really want me sleeping on the floor?" he asked with a small, teasing smile.

The brunette relented and gently climbed into bed with him. She laid down facing him, tucking herself under his head and into his chest. He placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head before bringing the covers down over them. Garcia had to admit, even though the bed was small, he enjoyed the warmth from her body and the scent of shampoo in her hair. He was going to miss it when she got her own cot.


End file.
